


Someday

by misbegotten



Category: Roswell (TV)
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He could be in love with her if he tried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday

**Author's Note:**

> Don't remember Brody? Try [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brody_Davis).

She is the sort of person who gives you regular when you ordered decaf because she doesn't see what difference it makes. But Brody orders decaf because he probably should rather than out of a pressing need to escape into sleep; the fact that he should be dead by now makes him haphazardly health-conscious. So it works out, and though he has sense enough to connect repeated point As (their visits together leave him more alert, even content) with the point Bs (steaming cups of pseudo-decaffeinated), sometimes he's lonely enough to forget the geometry.

He can't deny that he enjoys being around Maria, enough that he orders pepper jack sandwiches when he's not hungry just because her smiles are infectious. And he is transfixed by the blonde hair that falls past her shoulders even when she's at work, which is probably a violation of several health codes but nobody seems to care. She's the sun that he doesn't get enough of in his windowless offices, and a routine that could center him. He could be in love with her if he tried.

He came to his senses in the museum, bewildered by bullet holes and a SWAT team and the realization that this time he'd not only lost a part of himself, but that she knew what it was. Even if he hadn't seen it in her that night, she shouts it with her softer than usual smiles, and in letting her fingers brush his longer than necessary. She's transparent in her need to be touched, and to comfort others with it. He's known that about her from the first, this girl who talks with her hands, and speaks neon with her body. He's lived a lifetime of conversations in just the tilt of her head or the way she rests her whole frame against his desk.

She is so unselfconscious, about most things. But she doesn't talk about the boy anymore, the one who drives -- drove -- her crazy with ambivalence which he could diagnose as fear even if she couldn't. She expects her young man to be fearless, and expressive, and omniscient, but the courage to be those things comes only with being loved, and somehow he doubts that the slouching, brooding boy has been loved by anyone except her.

He could be what she wanted, if she wanted him to. He could hate her if he wanted to, but he can't bring himself to do it, even when their hands touch over the foil on the sandwich and he sees pity in her eyes.

He thinks about leaving; this place has brought him more questions than answers. But he suspects that even if he goes away, he'll wake up one day with the taste of Roswell in his mouth and a receipt for the pepper jack galaxy sub in his pocket. Some things you can't escape, he reminds himself.

And some things you have to wait for. Someday he'll remember his dreams and know they are his, not the half-familiar threads of someone else's life. Someday they'll drive out into the desert and bake in the shimmering heat while she tells him the bits she knows, the parts she's left out even though they belong to him.

For now, he'll keep ordering sandwiches he doesn't really want.


End file.
